


The meaning of Serendipity (Homestuck Fanfic)

by TrollJegus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Almost-rape, Angst, Art doesn't solve everything but it can come pretty damn close., F/F, no game, soul-mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrollJegus/pseuds/TrollJegus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calliope has a nightmare, and her wife, Roxy, knows just what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The meaning of Serendipity (Homestuck Fanfic)

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a bad place when I wrote this, so it may not be grammatically correct, but the feelings are all real, and I feel as if editing it would take away from the pureness of it.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” You let out a scream as you take your laptop and throw it across the room. “Just shut up already!” You yell at no one in particular. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But you know. You’re yelling at him.

“You’re not real! You never were!” You take your desktop next, and rip it from its fixed position and throw it too. It breaks. ‘Yes I am. And yes I was.’ You hear him, as if he actually spoke. But he can’t, he didn’t, it’s not possible, he’s not real, and you are! “Shut up! I didn’t do anything wrong!” But again, you know that’s not true.  
‘You killed me Callio-‘ You interrupt him with a shout. “That’s not my name!” He snorts, the sound full of contempt, but he doesn’t argue. ‘You killed me, Callie. You murdered your one and only brother.’ And you know. He’s telling the truth.

“I had to! You would have killed me if I hadn’t!” You curl up on the floor, feeling bile in your throat, and tears running down your face. “You would have killed me and done something horrible!” That felt better. That was the truth.

‘So you killed me. Does that make you any better than me?’ You say nothing, sobs rocking your body. ‘Say something!’ He shouts at you, his calm voice turned angry and terrible. ‘Say something you coward! Take responsibility!’ You look up, and you see him. His feet are bare, and his pants are in tatters. His face is angry, glaring down at you, but not even his disgust-ridden eyes are what brings the bile up and out of your mouth. It’s his erection. He’s getting off on tormenting you, like he always has.

“No! No! You’re dead! Just stay dead!” You yell at him and stumble backwards from him, from that warped, twisted snake between your brother’s legs, landing flat on your ass. ‘That’s right. I’m dead. DEAD CALLIOPE, DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!’ He takes two steps and is instantly on you, grabbing at your suspenders. You scream and cry, beat at him with your hands and kick at him with your legs, but he’s stronger. Always the stronger one.

“No! Stop!” Your voice comes out terrified, as terrified as you’ve always been of the man who should have been your protector. He smiles then, a terrible thing to look at, and he pins your arms next to your head. You try to fight back, you scream, you cry, but you don’t beg. You’ll never beg again. As if he senses your thoughts he pulls one of his hands back, and he punches you, punches you so hard that you see stars and taste blood.

You don’t notice when he does so, however his pants are off, and somehow so are yours. Like a pyrophobic man cannot resist looking at fire, you in the same way could not help it when your gaze went down to his engorged member, and you vomited. You were sick, sicker than you had ever been. And he spits on you, making you even sicker. And you know what he wants.

“Please.” Your voice cracks with self-loathing. ‘Please what?’ His voice is triumphant, and you close your eyes, turning your head as you sob uncontrollably. “Please don’t Caliborn!” He laughs then. The same laugh that he always did, and you knew he would still do it, that you had given in and begged you did the one thing you promised you would never do again., and you didn’t even have the decency to feel disgusted with yourself, instead you just felt afraid, you didn’t feel fear in every pore of your being. No. Only in your arms, only in the pit of your stomach did fear reside. It rested there, curling like a mass of tentacles.

‘You dumb whore. A slut who would betray her own family doesn’t get to ask for something, not from me! I gave you everything you have, and you betrayed me! It’s only right that I take payment for services rendered.’ You flinch at each of his words, and you try to get away, not physically, you’re weak after all. Nothing you do will ever get you out of this hell. So you retreat inside of your mind, try to numb yourself, you became an expert at doing just that after so many years living with Caliborn. But… you can’t! Your eyes fly open and you begin to panic, you can’t numb yourself, and he’s about to rape you! Oh god, this couldn’t be happening.

You begin sobbing and screaming hysterically. “Get off! Get off! Stop! I’m your little sister! How can you DO this to me?!” You try to struggle but he’s still too strong. Or maybe it’s just that you’re too weak. But you don’t stop, you have no control over every word that flies out of your mouth, every jerk of your limbs, every tear that comes down your face.  
You close your eyes once more and then… you hear it. Exactly twelve gunshots. And then Caliborn falls on top of you, the weight crushing. You hear someone yelling and then nothing. He’s dead. He’s dead and it’s your fault. Your fault for calling the police two minutes before he got home. Your fault for being afraid. And so you scream, you scream so loudly that it hurts.

“Callie!” You hear someone yell your name, and the voice is so worried that you can’t believe that they’re calling for you. But you stop screaming, you stop screaming and feel two arms surround you. Roxy. Roxy. You know it’s her, and that makes everything better, you turn into her embrace, on the bed that you share, and you start to sob. You say nothing, and she only whispers soothing noises that might have been words into your hair.

It’s a few hours before you’re able to talk to her about it. She’s gotten you a cup of tea, and she’s still rubbing your back as your stare down at it, having not touched a drop. You start talking, refusing to look anywhere but at the tea. “I remembered him. I remembered that day.” Roxy just nods, she knows that there’s nothing she can say that will make everything better. And you love her for that. “I hate him.” Your hands tremble and the tea shakes. “He’s dead and I still hate him! I hate him so so much, and I can’t do anything about it because he’s dead!” but you know, even if he was alive you couldn’t do anything.

But Roxy speaks now, and so you listen. “I want to model. Could you paint me Callie?” And, with that question, that question that had nothing to do with what happened, you break. You break completely and Roxy just picks you up, carries you to the studio in your home, changes into a long dark blue dress, lays across a white couch, and you paint her. And somehow, in a way that only Roxy would understand, you know that she knew that this was exactly what you needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written from the prompt: A homestuck couple deals with issues of the past through Art.


End file.
